


Santa Claus Is Comin' To Town

by Britpacker



Series: Seasons Of Goodwill [5]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, Family, Future Fic, M/M, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-15
Updated: 2012-12-15
Packaged: 2017-11-21 04:56:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/593671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britpacker/pseuds/Britpacker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas Eve in the Reed/Tucker household.  With three kids - and each other – to please, Santa’s little helpers are in for a busy night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Santa Claus Is Comin' To Town

**Author's Note:**

> The rating's gone up, but the spirit is the same: it's Christmas Eve and that means it's an anniversary for Malcolm and Trip.

“You know they’re never going to settle.”

“Give ‘em time, Mal. Charlie only went to bed ten minutes ago.”

“And he’s been bouncing around like a rampaging targ ever since. “ Bottom lip stuck out, Malcolm leaned against the kitchen table, arms crossed defensively over his chest. “He’ll wake Jamie at this rate, and Melissa’s still singing that daft song about Santa getting stuck down the chimney.”

“I told her if he hears that he’ll fly right past an’ not come in.”

“And as soon as your back was turned, she stuck her tongue out.”

Trip shrugged. “That’s kids for ya. No respect.” 

Malcolm frowned. “Love, she’s four. Mind you, it could be worse; I’m regretting ever teaching her _While Shepherds Washed Their Socks By Night_.”

He couldn’t help it. Trip’s shoulders heaved as a mammoth chuckle broke out. “So’s her teacher, now she’s taught the rest of the class! You want Santa’s beer?”

“Well I’m not having Rudolph’s bleedin’ carrot this year.” Everything was done: the vegetables were peeled, the turkey prepared and every present for their Christmas Day guests gaily wrapped and piled under the glistening tree. Now the children were safely in their rooms Malcolm could take a breath, drink Father Christmas’s booze and enjoy a few rare moments of peace with his husband. “You want one?”

“Can I have the slice of pie?”

“Help yourself.” If Santa’s penchant for pecan pie didn’t give the game away to his precocious brood, Malcolm considered, nothing would. Absently selecting something soothingly sentimental from their music catalogue he wandered after his husband into the lounge and hurled himself onto the sofa with the beer bottle dangling from his hand. “We’ve finally cracked this Christmas lark, haven’t we?”

“Famous last words, darlin’.” While Crosby warbled about a white Christmas Trip wolfed his pie, a soft, reminiscent smile crossing his lips as something small and shiny on the mantelpiece caught his eye. “You brought her down again – Billy Ruff’an.”

“Can’t have Christmas without her.” Malcolm patted the cushion at his side and brushing away his snack crumbs Trip catapulted himself into his partner’s arms. “Anyway, even Charles can’t reach her yet. When he gets bigger we may have to put her at the top of the tree.”

“Fingerprints’ll polish off.” 

“Perhaps, but it’d be sacrilege to get her marked in the first place.”

“Aw, Malcolm!” Beneath the stern demeanour of the ‘fleet’s most feared Tac Officer beat the heart of a romantic boy, and every time he saw it displayed Trip’s melted into a gooey puddle of pride. “Can you believe it’s been _sixteen years_ since I gave it to you?”

“Having used my old security tactics to get the Terrible Trio into their brigs – sorry, _bedrooms_ – I feel so bloody ancient it could be sixteen hundred years!” 

“You don’t look it.” Casual in faded jeans and a bulky sweater, the sleeves shoved up to reveal well-muscled forearms, Tucker thought his life’s mate had never been more desirable: a conviction shared equally between brain and balls, which tightened appreciably as the younger man snuggled into the crook of his arm. He shifted, pressing the pleasant heat of a growing hard-on into the small brunet’s hip.

Malcolm stirred. “Darling, we can’t start celebrating yet,” he murmured, arching into his husband’s expertly persuasive touch. “The children…”

“Won’t leave their rooms ‘til Santa’s been.” One hand cupped the weight in his pants and Malcolm emitted the soft keening sound, almost a purr, that always brought a feral smile to Tucker’s lips. “Sixteen years to the hour since I first held you, Malcolm Reed. You’ve gotta let me celebrate that, babe.”

“Hate it when you – oh! – call me that.” With talented fingers fondling him through much-too-velvety denim he didn’t stand a chance of resisting and Reed was, uncharacteristically, feeling far too relaxed and mushy to care. He lifted off the cushion, his eyes slipping shut as he pressed into Trip’s hand and his head lolled back on the Southerner’s shoulder. “Mmmm, feels good.”

“Lemme make you feel better’n good.” Keeping his movements slow and stealthy Trip wormed his free hand under Malcolm’s heavy top and rubbed in ever-expanding circles up from his flat belly. When he caught a nipple the Brit gasped.

“This’d be easier without the sweater,” Trip crooned, holding off from giving the little nub the attention Malcolm craved until his back arched and his arms came up, making the pesky garment easy to remove. With a little manipulation Tucker brought his husband onto his lap, head dipped to suckle the left nipple while tending the right with his unoccupied hand and all the while keeping up his ministrations further south. 

He didn’t have to concentrate – not after all these years. His body reacted instinctively to the squirm of its mate, fingers, teeth, tongue and cock harmonised to press Malcolm’s every hot spot, the smouldering in Trip’s lower regions subtly spreading through his entire body. “Lift, darlin’. Lemme getcha naked.”

Lost in a pleasured daze Malcolm stretched to vertical before lolling bonelessly into Trip’s hold while the taller man finished undressing him and yanked impatiently at his own clothes. Though his eyelids felt pleasantly weighted and his whole body liquid he managed not to collapse in a heap at those lovely golden feet. “We shouldn’t – the children,” he slurred, the words sounding faraway. Trip’s sexy chuckle shimmered over his flushed skin.

“They’re pretendin’ to be asleep. ‘s just you an’ me now,” he promised, snagging a small bottle of hand cream from the small chest beside the sofa. His mouth worked wet magic on the smaller man’s sensitive nape, keeping him distracted until his slick fingers were prepared to delve into Malcolm’s shadowy cleft. Electric currents lancing him the brunet pressed back, the faintest mew his demand for more.

“Oh, yeah.” Trip melted into the couch’s deep cushions, easily manoeuvring his partner into place across his thighs, soft dark hair rubbing against a bare shoulder. One finger eased through Malcolm’s tight hole and a jolt of lust rocketed through both men.

Malcolm humped the intrusive digit, utterly befuddled by the maddening combination of chest hair scratching his back, wet huffs of breath against his cheek and a skilful hand playing with his cock. Another cold finger found its mark, stretching his passage as Trip opened his way and he rocked faster, broken fragments of appeal dripping from his bitten lips. The children, Christmas plans… everything was forgotten but the ecstasy this man brought him.

When the fingers withdrew he whimpered, bereft. Sharp teeth nipped his earlobe, sparks of pain to swirl through bliss as finally, slowly, he was filled by his husband’s throbbing length. His penis was held in a determined grip, starbursts of sensation tearing through its aching fullness and he wriggled, desperately seeking both sources of heavenly stimulation at once.

“Easy, darlin’.” Oh, so responsive, Trip exulted as he drove higher, deeper into that cloying heat, the hand not working Malcolm’s dick moving between the puckered points of his nipples. Giving his hips a quick twist he hit his lover’s prostate head-on, revelling in Malcolm’s answering shriek.

The cock in Trip’s hand erupted, liquid fire sweeping through Malcolm with each successive stroke to his most sensitive spot as he stiffened then surged, dimly aware of the hot flood of Trip’s release prolonging his own. Dizzy, panting, he flexed around the softening length within, his own incoherent mumbles his accompaniment on the way down to a drowsy stupor. 

Anniversaries, Tucker mused, absently cradling his husband’s lax genitals. They really needed more of them in a year.

*

“Melissa’s such a light sleeper,” Malcolm hissed, holding him back when Trip would have bowled right down from their attic suite to the children’s rooms below. “For heaven’s sake take your shoes off!”

“Do her last? Charlie sleeps like the dead…”

“Like a true Tucker,” the Englishman amended, mouth twitching at the derisive snort in reply. “And Jamie’s too tired, poor tot. That’s his pile.”

“I’m on it.” 

With a conspiratorial grin Malcolm hefted the first stack of wrapped boxes, straining to peer over the top on his shuffling way to the stairs. “You fall carryin’ all those an’ the whole street’ll hear,” Trip cautioned before seizing an equally gigantic pile. “Jesus darlin’ what’s in _that_?”

“His scooter.” Counting off the steps down in his head brought Malcolm to the first floor without incident and he inched his way along the hall with all the wariness of a man anticipating a Suliban ambush. Head cocked, he paused outside their littlest’s door, waiting a long moment before gently nudging it inward. Trip flinched.

“No squeak,” he breathed. Malcolm’s teeth flashed white in the shadows.

“Oiled it this morning. After you.”

With a shake of the head at his husband’s thoroughness Trip tiptoed into the dark room, barely repressing a sigh at the sight of his youngest sprawled out on his back, one bare foot hanging over the edge of his bed. Careful, he laid out his assorted packages and turned to go, expecting to see Malcolm creeping out ahead.

His parcels had been neatly deposited, but Malcolm wasn’t moving. Stooped over the sleeping child, his hand ghosting inches above the sweet face, he was regarding his son with an air of bemused distraction that even in shadow stole Trip’s breath. 

Careful not to shock the man, he moved up behind, bringing his mouth close to one ear. “C’mon, Santa; we got work to do.”

As his husband backed off Malcolm turned, automatically mouthing an apology Trip had no chance of seeing. “I’m being an idiot,” he muttered, glad of the shadows in the unlit hall that hid sentimental tears from his unashamedly sappy spouse. “It’s just – seeing him like that sometimes… I still can’t quite believe they’re mine.”

“I know.” Amusement enriched the blond’s whisper and Malcolm felt his shoulders heave through a silent chortle in response. _Nothing wrong with being a sap over your kids, Mal. That’s what we have ‘em for!_

Half a dozen trips later his arms were aching and a fit of the giggles bubbled dangerously close to the surface. He couldn’t look at Trip for fear they’d set each other off.

“Dammit!” Trip’s already throbbing toes caught on their doorjamb for the third time. Malcolm snorted. 

Trip threw their daughter’s toy polar bear cub at him. 

Before he knew it Malcolm was flat out on the bed being tickled within an inch of his life and sobbing delightedly for mercy. “You’ll… wake…oh God…not my feet…everybody!”

Yanking off one sock Trip sucked his partner’s big toe with enthusiasm, sending tingles of sensation right up Malcolm’s leg. “Gotta get this out ‘f our systems,” he mumbled around the wriggling extremity. Helpless, the Brit flailed at his head, another gust of laughter sweeping through him.

It felt like an eternity before they were done, lying side by side on their enormous Denobulan bed still shuddering with the after-effects of hysteria. “Better get Missa done?” Trip croaked, squeezing his husband’s slack fingers. With a groan, Malcolm heaved himself upright and snatched the nearest tower of presents.

He even had the effrontery to pout over his shoulder at the man still snickering on the bed, but Tucker couldn’t help it. One sock on, the other foot bare, his hair rumpled beyond rescue, Starfleet’s model officer looked like a naughty child.

_His_ naughty child, Trip congratulated himself, hastily pulling himself up at the sound of footfalls on the stair. Mal would expect some help, after all.

*

Not, he admitted when the cute cub had been perched with one paw raised on top of the stack nearest their angel’s bed, that he’d been much use. One look at her, dark hair fanned out over a snow-white pillow, sweet bow mouth turned up into an achingly familiar half-smile, and he’d been lost.

Malcolm almost had to drag him out of the room before his looming presence disturbed the little girl. 

Two pairs of pyjama bottoms sat neatly folded on the end of their bed. Full lips pursed, Trip jabbed a finger. “What’s that for?”

“If you think I’m baring my nuts to the kids for Christmas, you can think again.” Deftly disrobing, Malcolm set his navy blue pair on top of his abandoned clothes and slipped between the covers with an angelic smile. “Now climb in and close your eyes. Bet you anything one of them wakes before five o’clock!”

“No bet.” Exhaustion hit him with the force of a MACO’s right hook. Trip’s knees buckled, his fall broken by a pair of strong arms. “G’night, darlin’. Merry Christmas.”

He would have sworn it was a mere five minutes later he was woken by a piercing shriek from downstairs. “Daddy! Poppa! Wake up, he’s _been_!”

“Four-thirty,” Malcolm grunted, his accent slipping from its characteristic precision. “’s the bleedin’ dawn chorus!”

“Jamie, come see what Santa’s brought me!” Charlie’s shrill treble floated down the hall accompanied by the exuberant thumping of a herd of frightened wildebeest. “Poppa! Daddy! I got the bicycle!”

“Really?” Sleepiness forgotten Malcolm vaulted for the stairs still hitching up his pants. “Let me see!”

All three children were peering around their doors, small faces flushed with excitement as they babbled at each other. “Scooter!” Jamie hollered at the first sight of his British parent. “Kis’mas got me scooter!”

“I got a bicycle,” Charlie gloated. Melissa vanished momentarily, reappearing with a pair of pristine white boots on her hands. 

“Skates! Daddy, I got skates, and a baby bear, come and see!”

“Daddy, look at scooter!”

“No, you’ve got to see my bear!” When she stamped her foot, Trip decided, his elfin, Reed daughter became pure, 100% Tucker. Jamie wailed.

“Not fair, want Daddy an’ Poppa to see scooter!”

“Why dontach ride it out for us, lil’ guy?” Trip suggested, squatted down onto his haunches between their doors. “And I wanna see this bear, honey, why don't you bring him out to us? He got a name yet?”

The Tucker element faded under a distinctive Reed expression of pure exasperation. “Poppa, I only just got him,” Melissa protested as she dived back into the room. “I got all sorts of nice things – _please_ come and see!”

“Betcha I got better,” Charlie muttered, just loud enough for his sister to hear. “I got the game I asked for – and come see all my candy!”

“I got chocolates!” Melissa shouted.

“Got both!” Jamie squealed, tugging his Poppa’s pant leg. “Poppa – Daddy – come see my room!”

“Mine! Mine!”

When Malcolm made a show of covering his ears all three fell silent. “Do you remember what we did last year, Charles – Melissa?” he questioned when he was sure of their attention. 

“Everybody came an’ saw my presents first,” CT4 announced.

“Which means this year, we start with Missa’s; then Jamie’s; then yours. Does that sound fair, Poppa?”

“Sounds good to me, Daddy.” With a benevolent smile Trip swept his whole family into a single hug, squeezing until all three kids squealed and jealousies were forgotten. Over the little heads, Malcolm gave him a satisfied grin.

Their parenting methods, Tucker reflected, were not always the same; he was too freewheeling, Malcolm too pedantic for that. Somehow they’d met in the middle, Reed discipline and Tucker fun combined, and even Mal admitted, it seemed to work.

Even if, Trip admitted falling back into bed an hour later beside his husband, it did leave them both exhausted at times.


End file.
